


Unpaid Vacation

by merriman



Series: Coulson Lives Forever (And Ever) [3]
Category: Highlander: The Series, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Mad Science, Unwelcome Guests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 13:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11510058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merriman/pseuds/merriman
Summary: Methos doesn't want a houseguest, but he gets one anyhow. He doesn't want trouble either, but when you've fallen in with SHIELD agents trouble is kind of inevitable.





	Unpaid Vacation

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, the actual sequel to A Routine Operation is done. I did promise Nick Fury crashing on Methos' couch, so here it is!
> 
> Thank you to all my friends who beta read for me, let me bounce ideas off of them, and listened to my frustrations with the MCU over the past couple of years and last couple of months especially. Working with a live canon is so much more difficult than one that's been over for 20 years.
> 
> Thank you also to the amazing stormbrite for the fantastic art for this story, posted here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/11445030>. I am in awe of these pieces and am so very grateful for them so please give them some love.

The fall of the Triskellion had been on the news. It had been on the news quite a bit. Methos kept an eye on the news, of course. You could get a good idea of what was being kept quiet by what was big in the news. The Triskellion disaster and subsequent Senate hearings had stayed in the international headlines for a good two weeks before being supplanted by local events. The SHIELD file dump, on the other hand, blew up all over the internet for a few days and then it was gone, relegated to conspiracy theory sites and places you couldn't get to via search engine. But Methos had been comforted by the fact that the file Agent Coulson had created on him had only ever amounted to an inaccurate alias and an old residence he'd taken care to leave well behind when he'd relocated.

Shadowy government organizations were never to be trusted. He could have told them that and saved them all a good deal of trouble back in the 1940s or whenever SHIELD had been founded. Still, even with his identity not truly compromised Methos had been careful when he'd moved on from North Carolina. He'd burned through two identities just to get across the Atlantic and created a new one entirely when he'd found a place to settle. He was going to hide well. No sense in making it easy for anyone to trace him. He'd even cut ties with MacLeod and Joe after warning them about the newly Immortal Agent Coulson and his employers. Amanda could fend for herself. She always had and last he'd heard she'd gone to ground somewhere in Hong Kong.

It would have been easy to slip up, get lazy, fall into old patterns that would let someone know he wasn't who he was claiming to be, that he was someone they might be looking for. Someone with a secret. So Methos stayed sharp, reminding himself daily that while he really _really_ didn't want to deal with SHIELD, he wanted to deal with HYDRA even less. And he truly had thought he'd been good. Better than good. Excellent. So when he woke up one morning to the sounds of someone in his kitchen his first move was to grab a gun. His second move was to see who the hell it was, because they weren't making much of an effort to be quiet and he could smell something cooking. Potatoes, by the scent.

"Let myself in," said the man in his kitchen. He was tall, hood on his sweatshirt thrown back to leave his bald head uncovered. He was wearing sunglasses and Methos could see some scarring around his left eye. He checked his grip on his gun and watched as the man stirred the contents of the pan on the stove.

"Who are you?" Methos asked, letting the man see he was armed. In exchange the man turned his body slightly, showing Methos a gun in a holster at his hip. But at the moment Methos thought the heavy cast iron pan the man was cooking with would probably be just as good a weapon. At close range, anyhow.

"Right now, I'm no one important," the man said as he plated what he'd been making, shut off the burner and set the plate down on the tiny kitchen table. "Just a friend of a friend, so to speak. Needed a place to crash. Figured I'd crash here."

"A friend of a friend?" Methos asked. The man was now checking drawers, stopping when he found the forks and took one. "I'll have you know I'm a recluse. Notoriously antisocial. I don't have friends."

"Really?" The man looked up at Methos before sitting down at the table. Methos couldn't see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but he didn't need to see them. He'd seen faces like this before. Faces with secrets and tempers and both under tight control. "See, and here I heard you and Phil got along just fine."

Phil. Phil Coulson. Methos groaned and walked into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, then took it and his gun to the table where he dropped into the second chair. 

"Why me?" Methos asked. The man was eating his breakfast and didn't answer for a few moments.

"You know, you were pretty impossible to find."

"I know. That was the point!" Methos said.

"I need to be impossible to find for a little while."

The face, the association, the need for secrecy. It all clicked with a tiny article that had accompanied news about the Triskellion a week or so back. This had to be the former director of SHIELD, Nick Fury. Who was supposed to have been killed by an enemy sniper, so that was interesting. He wasn't Immortal, that much Methos could tell right away - he'd have grabbed a sword too if he'd felt one of his own kind - but there he was. Eating hash browns at Methos' kitchen table.

"I don't have a guest room," Methos pointed out.

"You've got a couch."

"Yes, for me to sit on and watch television."

Fury put down his fork and took off his sunglasses. If he'd hoped to shock Methos with the sight of the scarring over his eye he was doomed to disappointment. Methos had seen worse. He'd had worse wounds in fights. And he'd known more dangerous men with scars over their eyes. But it appeared all Fury was doing was appraising Methos. After a moment he shrugged and went back to eating, though the sunglasses stayed off.

"I don't suppose if I tell you it's a matter of international security, the safety of the free world, it'd matter much to you?" Fury asked.

Methos shrugged. "Probably not," he allowed. Not entirely true, but he did have a reputation to maintain.

"Yeah, didn't think so," Fury muttered. "Coulson said you're the opposite of a mercenary: You don't fight for anyone."

"I fight for myself," Methos corrected. "It's held me in good stead for a very long time."

That look again. Fury watched him for a moment, then cocked his head. "Yeah? How long? Are we talking in decades? Centuries?"

Methos drained his coffee to the dregs and got up to set the mug in the sink. It was far too early to be dealing with on-the-run spies who knew about Immortals. It would probably always be too early. There wasn't enough time in the day to make him ready for this sort of conversation.

"I've got things to do," he said shortly. "I suppose this is some sort of payback for couch surfing for so many years." Amongst other things. Without acknowledging Fury's smirk Methos left the kitchen to get dressed and face the day. It had to go uphill from here or he'd have to find a new place to live.

* * *

"What do you mean, the Icebox is compromised?" Fury was demanding of someone when Methos let himself back into his place later in the day. Clearly he now had a roommate, and said roommate had made himself at home. The living room now sported two laptops and what appeared to be some sort of wireless networking Methos really hoped was untraceable. With the name Stark etched onto the side of the unit on the coffee table he figured it probably was. 

While Fury berated whatever poor agent was on the other end of his phone, Methos took the burner phone he'd bought that day and went into his bedroom to make a call of his own.

"Yeah?" Joe's familiar voice asked after a single ring.

"Hey Joe, long time no talk."

Joe wasn't one to let relief keep him from a stern talking-to. "Damn right! Just what in blue hell is going on? You call me once, tell me the government knows about Immortals, you're taking off and not to try and find you and I'm supposed to be cool with that? Do you know what's going on in the Watchers right now? They're digging through agents in case we've got HYDRA spies!"

Methos felt a headache coming on as he sat down on his bed.

"Joe… Joe. Stop. I did not know any of that was going on. I've been out of the loop. That was the point. Stay out of SHIELD's sight. Not that _that's_ worked out too well."

Joe was momentarily caught up by that. "What's going on?" he demanded.

"I've got a spy in my living room using me as a safe house. It's exhausting." Methos sighed as Joe fought laughter.

"Hey, thanks, buddy. I needed that," Joe said after a moment. "But seriously, this is a mess. How long have they known about Immortals?"

"I have no idea," Methos admitted. "They've got Johannes Faulk in custody. Or they did last I saw him. And now they've got their own Immortal agent. I guess it's possible he was a HYDRA sleeper…"

"No he wasn't," Fury said from the doorway. "Coulson's solid SHIELD, through and through."

Methos looked up and glared at him. "You know, I could have you arrested for trespassing. Get out of my bedroom, leech."

"Just thought I'd clear that up. Who's that you're talking to? The thief?"

Methos continued to glare. On the other end of the phone Joe was asking something similar, except he guessed correctly that Methos was talking to the spy. 

"I am talking to a friend," Methos told Fury. "Now go lurk in my living room like you were when I got home."

Fury walked over and plucked the phone out of Methos' hand and Methos took a moment to wonder just how his life had taken this particular turn. He'd been driving home one night and then out had come Faulk from the woods and now here he was in the middle of something from a spy novel. He snatched the phone back and glared at Fury again. Either Methos was losing his touch - he'd been able to make whole continents collectively shit themselves once - or the job of SHIELD director required some serious intestinal fortitude. Fury just rolled his eye and turned to examine Methos' bedroom while Methos ignored him and went back to Joe. Who was demanding to know what was going on.

"I do apologize. My new roommate has the manners of a cuckoo."

"Yeah, well, if he's tied up with those SHIELD folks, we sure could use him. We've had some agents of our own in there for decades, apparently, and now it's this huge mess and guess who's getting tapped to handle it?"

"You do get the best jobs," Methos muttered. "Must be your winning personality with your superiors. How do you plan on dealing with this?"

"You tell me, genius. At least they didn't dump any of _our_ files."

Methos would have smirked in Fury's general direction but the man had left the bedroom and gone back into the living room. Gloating opportunity lost, Methos listened as Joe ranted some more about the Watcher council and their really very ridiculous demands. He was about to cut in and suggest that Joe announce early retirement when another voice entirely interrupted.

"Sounds like we should team up," Fury said.

"Fucking Tony Stark," Methos grumbled as he stalked out into the living room where Fury had obviously hacked into his conversation with some Stark-branded tech Methos didn't even want to know existed.

"Yeah," Fury said, grinning up at Methos. "He's a real pain in the ass, isn't he."

* * *

It wasn't so much that Methos didn't trust Fury - he didn't trust him one bit but he didn't trust most people anyhow - it was that he didn't know Fury well enough to know what to not trust him about. Some people would try to kill you in your sleep, some would get you arrested for your own good, some would try to rope you into hopeless schemes. It was easier to protect against it all if you knew what someone was capable of. As Methos sat in his kitchen and listened to the former director of SHIELD turn his living room into a satellite office he came to the unpleasant conclusion that Nick Fury was capable of just about anything.

Well. If his unwanted houseguest was capable of just about anything then perhaps it was time to give up and just assume the worst: This man was probably going to get him killed. Hopefully not permanently. Just up and leaving town seemed like a fairly decent option, but he had the feeling Fury would manage to follow him. Or, even worse, have someone else follow him. And besides, there was Joe to worry about, and the Watchers, and it was such a huge mess Methos wasn't sure he even could leave it all behind. If what he was hearing from the living room was even partially true, and he suspected that it all was, finding somewhere remote wouldn't help. HYDRA seemed to have little bases and cells in every corner. 

So really, there was nothing for it. He'd have to stick it out and hope he could keep his head attached to his shoulders. All things considered, having someone around with his finger on the pulse of it all would at least keep Methos apprised of what was going on. He could demand that much. 

And screw dinner. Methos wasn't about to cook for Fury. It wasn't like he was an invited guest. Methos grabbed an apple out of a basket on his counter and headed back through the living room towards his bedroom. He'd almost made it there without getting sucked into the international disaster that was being monitored from his couch and then there it was: The Watcher symbol. On the inside wrist of a man he didn't recognize. 

Against his better judgment Methos took a step closer. "Go back," he told Fury. "Are these people HYDRA or SHIELD?"

Fury had been scrolling through files and went back one, then two, then three. "We think they're HYDRA. Pretty sure, anyhow. As you can imagine, it's a little tricky to tell at the moment."

Methos sighed and dropped onto the couch next to Fury. "Well, that one there?" He pointed to the photo he'd seen as he'd walked through the room. "He's playing for at least two teams."

"Which two?" Fury asked him, pulling up the photo so they could see it full size. 

Methos pointed out the tattoo on the man's wrist, made visible as he'd been reaching for something when the photo was taken. "That there is a Watcher tattoo. They keep tabs on people like me. They're decent spies, better archivists. Unfortunately, they've had their own problems with bad apples and splinter groups and why am I telling you this?"

"Because I'm so very easy to talk to," Fury said. "You'd be amazed at the things people tell me."

"You'll have to share some time," Methos muttered. "Anyhow, if you've got a Watcher in your ranks, that's not too big a big deal. If HYDRA has a Watcher in its ranks, well. We might be in trouble."

"Are we talking trouble on the order of an intergalactic invasion, or trouble on the order of a megalomaniac god, or trouble on the order of a superpowered terrorist?" Fury asked. "I need scale, here."

"Somewhere between megalomaniac god and superpowered terrorist," Methos said. "We're not talking space whales. But we are talking about someone who could be influencing Immortals, who've been known to have odd powers here or there, who are hard to take down, who often have lived through eras where morals were… Different. Let's go with different."

"Are you speaking from experience?" Fury asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Methos snapped back. "Send that photo to Joe. He'll figure out who it is and who they're supposed to be keeping tabs on."

"Interesting man, Joe Dawson," Fury said as he tagged the photo and kept going. Methos wasn't about to ask if he had a way of getting it to Joe. Of course he did. Briefly, Methos entertained a few fond thoughts about living off the grid, backpacking without even a satellite phone. But Fury was still talking. "We had a nice chat after you went out this morning. He's almost as cagey as you. I like that in a man."

"He's got a tell," Methos told him. "He does this thing with his face when he bluffs. Otherwise he's pretty solid."

"I'll keep that in mind for those poker nights we're not having," Fury said as he stopped on another photo and scowled at it. "I don't particularly like gambling, yet I find myself having to take chances all the time."

"That, my friend, is life," Methos said. He stood up. "There's no such thing as a guarantee, unless you stack the deck. Which, by the way, is something rogue Watchers have done in the past."

Fury cast a curious look in Methos' direction, but Methos just shrugged.

"It never works out well for them in the end. Doesn't mean it isn't trouble. I'd keep an eye on whoever that is. Super powers and gods and heroes? We've had them all along. You just didn't know it, but _they_ did." And with that, Methos headed to bed. Whatever that HYDRA agent was up to, he'd likely been up to it for a while and there was nothing to be done about it right that second.

* * *

As it turned out, Fury likely _was_ doing something about it. Or he was doing something else. Whatever he was doing, he was doing it late into the night. Methos tried to sleep. He was good at getting to sleep in stressful or difficult situations, but staying asleep could be much harder. Each time he woke in the night, Fury was definitely still up and conducting some sort of business in the living room. Sure, it made sense that he'd have people to coordinate at all hours, but really, sleep was essential for mortals and immortals alike.

First thing in the morning, Methos woke, fully expecting Fury to be in his kitchen again. But he wasn't. He was asleep on the couch, finally. It was only with a tiny bit of resentment that Methos started making his own breakfast. Fury could again fend for himself. He certainly had the day before. Methos didn't go about making more noise on purpose, but he also didn't make much effort to not make noise. Fury slept through it all and was still asleep when Methos left for the day.

Given that Fury had been up most of the night and previous day, Methos wouldn't have been shocked to find him still asleep when he got home. What he found instead was a very awake Nick Fury seated next to an also very awake Joe Dawson.

In retrospect, it wasn't terribly surprising. Methos silently resigned himself to sleeping on the floor. Or maybe in the back garden. 

"Joe. Welcome," he said as he shut the door behind himself and Joe and Fury looked up.

"I didn't get a welcome," Fury commented. 

"That's because you broke into my home while I was asleep and stole my food. You're a trespasser," Methos said. "Joe is a guest. You can take the bedroom," he told Joe.

"I've got a hotel room," Joe said, waving him off. "I figured you had your hands full with this clown."

"You have no idea," Methos muttered as he shrugged off his coat and hung it by the door. He thought for a moment, running through all of the not-horrible reasons why Joe could have decided to take an overseas flight on a moment's notice. There weren't that many, really. It was far more likely that something pretty horrible was going on. And it was incredibly likely that it had to do with HYDRA and the Watchers and probably an Immortal or an alien or something Methos had truly thought he'd be able to avoid for at least a few years. 

Joe and Fury were conferring about something and Methos took the chance to head into the kitchen in hopes that he still had food to eat. While he was contemplating the relative merits of leftover takeaway versus tinned soup, Joe walked in and leaned against the doorframe.

"We've got a problem," he told Methos.

"I do hope that by 'we' you mean yourself and the total stranger in my living room," Methos said, pitching the takeaway into the rubbish before digging through his drawers for a can opener.

"You wish," Joe said. He took a seat at the tiny kitchen table and sighed heavily. Methos carefully contained a sigh of his own and abandoned the unopened soup on the counter so he could join Joe at the table.

"What is it?" he asked, sitting across from him. "And keep in mind, I'm only asking so I know how far I need to go to be out of the danger zone."

"Twelve missing Immortals and a Watcher field office gone dark," Joe said.

Yes. That was definitely on the horrible end of things. There were good reasons for field offices to go dark, such as the risk of an Immortal finding out about them, or all Immortals in the area moving elsewhere, but the former always meant someone from the office checking in with the regional office and the latter would have been noted with the tedious office shut-down paperwork. Bad reasons tended to involve murder. Or worse. Twelve missing Immortals seemed like it would push this whole thing into "worse" territory. 

"Twelve," Methos said. "Twelve of us missing. And how many field agents missing from that office?"

"Six," Joe said. "Smaller office, but you've got one guess as to who was in charge of it."

"Well it wasn't Adam Pierson," Methos sighed. "So we have a rogue Watcher who is likely also a HYDRA agent, twelve Immortals unaccounted for, five Watchers unaccounted for, and goodness knows what happened to them all."

Joe was nodding. "Yeah, that sums it up. Rogue's name is Carson Dietz. He was a year ahead of you in the Academy. He's been in the field around here for years, worked his way up as his assignments killed each other. Looks like he might have crossed paths with Horton once or twice, but the Tribunal cleared him of any involvement back in '97."

Methos closed his eyes and slowly laid his head down on the kitchen table. There was no way this wasn't going to blow up very badly.

"We can't just call one of those troublemakers in New York, can we," he said into the table. "We'd have to explain Immortals and they're probably busy being superheroes." And he had a feeling that the closer he got to their orbit, the harder it would be to break away. After all, he hadn't even been able to truly get away from SHIELD, and he'd only spent a couple of days with a single agent, utterly by accident.

"Where is it?" he asked, forehead still pressed into the kitchen table.

"See, here's why I actually flew all the way out here. In coach," Joe told him. "You're lucky you keep a low profile or one of those twelve Immortals might have been you, buddy. And since you didn't do me the favor of staying in touch, I wouldn't have known. This shit's all happening right next door."

"You mean, down the street or a town over or what?" Methos asked.

"Sokovia," Joe told him. "Field office was in a little town just over the border. The missing Immortals are a mix of folks living nearby or known to be traveling through the area. You just got lucky."

"Story of my life," Methos said as he finally raised his head and got up from the table. "Well. I wish the two of you luck. I've got some packing to do."

Joe shook his head. "We could use your help on this one, man."

"Joe, I moved all the way here to stay _out_ of trouble. Now that you know where the problem is and who the problem is, call the Council and get them to mobilize one of those emergency response teams they were so proud of setting up after that mess with Horton. Isn't there one in Budapest?"

Joe scowled as he pulled out his phone. "Nope. They got moved last year. I'll have to call in the team from Paris. You sure you won't help out?"

Methos just shook his head and left the kitchen. 

"Don't _you_ have people for this?" he asked Fury, who was studying some sort of weapon schematics.

"Technically, no. I'm dead right now," Fury said. "I've got information. Not people."

"Perfect," Methos sighed.

* * *

They did not play poker that night, but Methos did stay up fairly late, sharing a beer or two with Joe while Joe attempted to explain to the Watcher Council just what was going on without revealing that part of his certainty in the matter came from supposedly-dead former SHIELD Director Nick Fury. For his part, Fury declined a beer but did pay for dinner when they had it delivered from a restaurant in town.

The best the Council could give Joe was a team in two days. After all the fuss of putting the teams together and training them, no threats that needed them had surfaced. Agents had been reassigned or moved to follow their Immortals and now had to be recalled. Methos had called a cab to get Joe to his hotel, then gone to sleep expecting to see him in the morning.

"What exactly do you do all day?" Fury asked Methos when Methos emerged from his bedroom to go start the coffee brewing.

"I count beans with an abacus," Methos told him. "It's very archaic. Takes up all of my time and focus." In truth, he'd gotten himself a job in accounting for a brewery in town. They were making a name for themselves, growing fast, and had been only too happy to hire someone with Methos' 100% fictitious credentials and background. It had been a good identity, well-crafted and set up specifically for a situation like this. And now he was going to have to leave it behind and start from scratch less than a year after putting it to use. What a waste.

"Using an abacus anything like riding a bicycle?" Fury asked as Methos grabbed his coat. "The sort of thing you don't forget?"

Methos didn't even dignify that with an answer before leaving. If Fury wanted to know more about him, Methos wasn't under any obligation to make it easy. He'd noticed Fury poking through the books in his bookcase and the dishes in his kitchen, but it was all set dressing, meticulously chosen for the persona of a mild-mannered accountant with a penchant for coin collecting and vintage European science fiction. Okay, so he actually did have a personal reason for his fondness of _Frankenstein_ and it was a little behind the times of the rest of the collection he'd picked up when he'd been furnishing the apartment. It wasn't too out of place and Mary had been a good friend.

Of course it was out on the table when Methos got home, bookmark showing that Fury had apparently gotten halfway through before going back to whatever covert troublemaking he was now up to.

Joe was in the kitchen, arguing with someone on the phone. Methos left him to it and plunked himself down in the ratty old armchair in his living room. Fury's reaction was only barely noticeable when Methos grabbed the copy of _Frankenstein_ Fury had left out, but Methos could feel him watching. Of course he was. Methos opened the book to where it was marked, checking to see where Fury had left off. Or where he'd wanted Methos to think he'd left off.

"Personally, I prefer nonfiction," Fury said after a few minutes while Methos reacquainted himself with the book. "I see too much nonsense on a daily basis. It's always good to get my feet back on the ground. But then, some days I look at what's going on and I think it's all nonfiction. Or it has the potential. Take Dr. Frankenstein, there. One could say that might even be based on a true story."

Methos regarded him solemnly for a moment, then shrugged. "Or it could be based on a whole lot of liquor and drugs. Or just an active imagination."

"Or you could stop being a jackass and tell him about Mary Shelley," Joe said as he came back into the living room.

Methos glared at him, but Joe just shrugged. 

"Well, why don't we just hand over my entire file," Methos muttered. "Fine. Mary witnessed a challenge between two Immortals once. If they end as intended, there's usually some sort of lightning that strikes the victor."

Both Joe and Fury were nodding. Fury was quickly tapping away at a tablet that he must have either unboxed that day or had delivered, because it sure as hell hadn't been among the hardware he'd had the night before. He handed it to Methos so he could watch a grainy video of what appeared to be a quickening striking a man bound to a post in a courtyard. As the video continued, three more quickenings hit the man, each from a different direction. The last seemed to come from inside the building. The next video that came up was of their errant Watcher, filmed through a window. He appeared to be working on something, then, a few moments later, whatever he'd been working on glowed blue in the window before exploding in an arc of electricity. 

Methos watched the videos, then set the tablet down and looked at Joe and Fury.

"This is just fantastic," he told them. "Experiments with quickenings. Thank you so much for bringing it into my living room."

"Look, we're dealing with it!" Joe told him.

"Oh? How? Or is showing me videos of someone forcing quickenings on one of us how you're 'dealing' with it?"

Fury picked up the tablet and brought it back over to the corner of the room he'd turned into an office. Methos watched him while his back was turned and was absolutely, without a doubt, 100% certain that Fury knew he was looking at him. This wasn't a man who left things to chance. This was a man who planned things out. This was Phil "contingency plans" Coulson's boss. Showing Methos the videos and hoping it would spur him to action didn't seem like it would be good enough for him. 

The trouble was, Methos didn't know Fury well enough to know how well Fury thought he knew _him_. So he couldn't quite puzzle out just what Fury might try to bank on.

"The Council's called in everyone on the Paris team," Joe said, breaking Methos' concentration on Fury. "Most of them were still in Europe - but three have to come in from overseas."

There were days when Methos regretted having to leave the Watchers behind. Adam Pierson had been a nice little identity for a while there and being a research agent for the organization had kept him well out of harm's way for years. And then something would remind him that the Watchers were also disorganized and ridiculously naive, given what they should know.

"Still no one from you?" Methos asked Fury, who turned around and shook his head.

"Can't risk it," he said. 

Methos didn't even bother wasting a glare on him this time. It wasn't worth it and he needed to get out of town. Fury could have the flat. It was paid into the next month. He could make it his own little mini-SHIELD if he wanted. No problem. Methos wanted none of it. 

Still. There was Joe. Having friends was a giant pain in the ass sometimes. Much of the time. Right now.

Methos frowned, looking around the living room, then back at the tablet. Just a couple more days and the Watcher team would be coming in. He could hold out until Joe had backup.

"Right. So. The situation as I see it is that we have a dangerous rogue agent of two secret organizations conducting experiments using Immortals. But he is doing so in a relatively remote location and we have no backup as of yet," Methos said, going through it all in his head. It was slightly more complicated, given what the man likely knew and that he possibly still had access to the Watcher database and was tracking the movements of any Immortals even remotely nearby. But the sum of it was as he'd said: Rogue agent, remote location, no backup.

Joe and Fury were both nodding. Methos nodded too. 

"Good luck with that," Methos said. "Please let me know if you plan to invite him around for tea."

While he fully expected Joe to come and knock on his bedroom door once he left the room, demanding that he come back out and help, he never did. Methos could hear him and Fury talking out in the living room. Methos could admit to himself that he was curious, but longstanding survival instincts far outweighed curiosity. He heard Joe head out the front door a little before midnight. Just a few more days.

* * *

Everything seemed normal enough when Methos got up the next morning. Normal meaning his living room was full of electronics he didn't own and there was a spy-in-exile asleep on his couch. So, perfectly normal. Methos made coffee and headed out for a perfectly normal day at work. A few of his coworkers poked their heads into his office to ask questions. He worked on accounts he'd promised to the CEO by the end of the week. He had lunch at his desk and made small talk with the woman who worked in the office next door. He asked her about her dogs and she told him more than he could have ever cared to hear. He pretended that he was nothing more than what he appeared and everything was absolutely fine and as far as he could tell, it was working.

If he was lucky, perhaps Methos would get home to find that either the Watchers had arrived ahead of schedule or Fury had finally found some people he could call in without compromising his very existence. With that thought, Methos stopped at a grocery on his way home to get something for dinner. Of course, as it turned out, he wasn't lucky at all. Which, as he felt someone stick him with a needle and his vision blurred, he thought he really should have known.

When Methos revived he was instantly aware that he'd been dead. There was a rush to it that just didn't hit him the same way when he'd merely been unconscious. It was like jumping - or being thrown - into frigid water. Drawing that first breath was always a relief even before his mind could process why. No matter the situation at hand, he wasn't dead anymore. If he was alive and awake he could work with that. 

"Oh good, you're back," a voice said from behind him. Methos didn't know the voice but he had a suspicion as to who it belonged to. Confirmation would have to wait, however, as the source stayed out of sight and Methos himself had been tied - quite tightly - to a chair. "That didn't last nearly as long as I thought it would," the voice said, almost not even addressing Methos himself. "Fascinating. I thought revival time would be tied closer to age or power. Unless you've been a very busy boy since Paris, Pierson."

Now the source of the voice walked around to where Methos could see him. It was indeed who Methos thought it would be: The rogue Watcher from Fury's photos: Carson Dietz. 

"Well I do have to stave off boredom," Methos told him. Sure, let him think Adam Pierson had gone on a killing spree after becoming Immortal. That was a perfectly good story for the time being. 

"What with being without a job, or a purpose," Dietz said. "It's a pity we never crossed paths before you got kicked out. You know the records from that whole time period in Paris are locked down? I can't get into them, and believe me, I've tried. I guess the organization is just a little embarrassed about having a potential Immortal in their ranks, having access to their records, their secrets. They tested everyone after you left," he commented.

"Good for them," Methos muttered. He'd figured as much, though Joe had never said so and it wouldn't tell them anything about potential Immortals. "What do you want with me? You're not even supposed to be talking to me, let alone kidnapping me."

Dietz laughed, right in Methos' face. "Oh come now. You can't possibly get on your high horse about interference. Not with Dawson spending whole days in your home. Really, it's his fault you're here. I was going to have this little chat with him, but then I saw who he was here to see."

"And?" Methos asked. "We were friends, you know. Before."

"Of course you were. You and him and Don Salzer and the whole little clique from Paris. All so very cozy. And then Salzer ends up dead at the hands of someone looking for Methos."

Methos didn't have to fake his reaction to that. Don's death still weighed on him a bit, no matter how much he tried to tell himself it wasn't his fault. The most he could actually be blamed for was surviving long enough for his name to become a legend. He hadn't led Kalas to Don. He hadn't gotten Don interested in the Methos Chronicle. Don had long been fascinated by the more elusive Immortals, the ones who showed up in stories but may or may not still be alive. 

"Salzer gets killed, Kalas loses his head to the younger MacLeod, and there you are. Adam Pierson: Assigned to the Methos Chronicle. You spent years on it before they kicked you out. But then the next Methos researcher said half your records were missing. You must have taken them with you. Or given them to someone. Dawson seemed like a good bet for that."

"He doesn't have anything on Methos," Methos said. "I took it all. But it doesn't matter. Methos died in Seacouver years ago. That jackass Culbraith took his head while he was preaching peace and love to every sucker he came across. I honestly don't know how he lived as long as he did." Not that Methos himself had wanted the imposter dead. Not specifically. But his death did serve a very convenient purpose.

Dietz smiled and Methos knew immediately that he wasn't going to like the reason for it. "Ah, but this is where you're wrong. I suppose that does mean you're out of the loop. He wasn't Methos at all. His name was Robert Willis. He was around one hundred and fifty years old. Somehow he managed to find out about Methos and convince enough people that he carried it off for years. We never caught on because his Chronicle was destroyed in a fire, or so it seemed. They can do wonders with document recovery technology these days, you know."

Methos stared at him. Of course he'd known the other man was a fake. He'd just never expected the Watchers to figure out who he actually was. Methos himself hadn't ever even bothered to try. It hadn't mattered. All that had mattered was that the fool had been walking around openly wearing that target of a name and serving as an unwitting decoy. 

"Did you truly think he was the real thing? How disappointing. I had heard you were more intelligent than that." Dietz shook his head. "Perhaps you won't be that useful after all. Oh well. You've still got some juice in you. We'll see whether you can power something up. I suspect not. You're far too young."

Dietz walked out of the room without another word and Methos waited until he was sure the man wasn't coming right back in before checking to see if the ropes around his wrists were really as tight as they seemed. Dietz had been capturing Immortals for a little bit now, if what Joe and Fury had found was true, so he would have to know that many Immortals were resourceful. But he also thought that Adam Pierson was only about fifty years old, and a bookish nerd at that, given most field agents' opinions of the Watcher researchers. 

While he tested the ropes and tried to figure out what knots Dietz had used, Methos looked around the room. It had likely once been a laundry room, back when the house had served a purpose other than a lair for a bona fide villain. The floor was stone and there were sinks against the wall to his right. What was far more interesting, and concerning, were the tables in front of him and to his left. The tables in front of him were bare, but bore plenty of scorch marks. The tables to his left, on the other hand, had a number of pieces of equipment. Methos couldn't identify them all, but if he had to guess, well, it seemed likely they were for measuring the electrical output of a quickening. Or for focusing or directing them. There were antennae and what might have been a tiny modified Van de Graaf generator? Or something like it? Methos didn't like the look of any of it.

After a couple more minutes, Methos determined that he could get out of the ropes if he had to, but it would involve some pretty painful things for his hands and it would take time. While he worked on that, he also determined that his chair wasn't bolted to the floor. He shifted it around a bit, being careful to not make too much noise. When he worked himself around enough to see what was behind him, he almost wished he hadn't. A variety of weapons sat on a table behind him, right by the door. They had clearly been used, recently, and not cleaned.

Really, that was just insulting. If Dietz was going to try and torture him, the least he could do was do it with clean tools. Methos sighed and turned his chair back around. Dietz would likely be back at any moment and Methos would need to stall him and distract him long enough to get himself free without Dietz realizing what he was doing. Fortunately, he had an idea for that.

He'd just gotten himself turned around and his hands ready for some seriously unpleasant positions when the door opened and Dietz walked back into his line of sight. He was carrying something that looked vaguely gun-like, but not like any weapons Methos had ever handled. Dietz set it down on the table in front of Methos, then turned to look at him.

"I have quite a few of these. They were left behind back in World War II. This whole place was a stockpile that never got cleaned out. Unfortunately, they never got powered up. And the power source isn't exactly on this planet anymore, apparently."

In that moment, Methos wanted nothing more than to just rip one hand out of the ropes and punch this twerp in the face, but he was a few hand bones away from doing that, so he did what he'd planned on: He told the truth.

"I know where Methos is."

Then he lied.

"I've been hunting him."

This had precisely the effect he'd intended: Dietz turned to face him, his attention caught.

"You've been hunting Methos?" he asked, almost laughing. "You. Pierson, you might be one of the most foolish men I've ever met if you think you could take on an Immortal who's lived over five thousand years. Whatever made you think you could do that?"

Methos shrugged, using the motion to hide a jerk that dislocated his left thumb and hoping that Dietz would take any odd facial expression to be something like irritation or chagrin. 

"I've studied him for years. As far as I could tell, he went at least a hundred years without taking a challenge as of about twenty years back. He'd have to be pretty rusty." Mix the truth in there. Dietz wouldn't have any reason to suspect "Adam" knew from personal experience. "I thought well, that's one way to stay alive: Don't fight."

"But you've been fighting," Dietz pointed out. "Your resuscitation time was impressive for such a young Immortal. You must have been using some of those records you kept?"

Methos nodded as he slowly worked his left hand out of the rope, loop by loop, keeping the rope up by his wrists so it wouldn't give him away by falling to the floor. "I figured the Watchers would assume I was no threat. I barely passed my field assessments. It's one reason I was posted to Research in the first place." Truth again, though he'd done it intentionally. 

"And all this time, you've actually been hunting the oldest Immortal, taking heads along the way. Well, that's very interesting. And you know where he is?"

Methos nodded again, resetting his thumb and waiting for a broken bone in his hand to heal. It would take a moment or two. "I tracked him here. Joe's been helping me out. It's how I've been able to stay under the radar."

"So Dawson knows where he is too?"

"No," Methos said, not too quickly, lest Dietz get it back into his head that Joe would make a good target. Not that he planned on letting Dietz get out of this alive to make more trouble, but why risk it? "He's just helping me stay out of the way of the Watchers."

Dietz considered this and Methos took advantage of the time to work his right hand loose. 

"Let's say I believe you," Dietz said. "And you know where Methos is. You were hoping to take his head?"

"That or get him to teach me. I just want to keep my head attached to the rest of my body."

Which he was certainly going to do. All he needed now was to move fast enough to grab one of the knives on the tray behind him. 

"Let's make a deal," Dietz said, while Methos felt his bones knit back together. "You tell me where Methos is, and you don't get his head, but I'll make sure you get others. I had someone I was working with, but he was getting difficult and I had to deal with him. You give me Methos, an Immortal with enough power to get this working," he said, patting the apparently useless gun on the table, "And I'll make sure you keep your head as long as possible."

As long as possible was 100% just as long as Dietz found him useful, but fortunately by then, Methos was certain that his hands were back in working order enough that he could hold a knife. 

"Deal," he said, just a fraction of a second before he dropped the rope and hopped off the chair, reaching back and grabbing the first blade his hand found. Dietz pulled out a plain old handgun as Methos dove for the knives, getting off two shots, both of which missed. A third caught Methos in the left arm, but he had a knife in his right hand and was back at close range with Dietz, knife to his throat just as the door flew open and Methos felt the faint trace of Immortal presence closing in on him. 

"Looks like you don't need my help after all," Fury said from the doorway. Methos had twisted Dietz's gun hand around, making him drop the weapon. If you couldn't move through pain to disarm an opponent, you were dead, so Methos had done just that.

"Not really, no, but it is the least you could do," Methos said, not looking back at Fury. He grinned at Dietz and leaned in close to his ear. "Congratulations," he whispered. "You found me." 

Not that Dietz would ever tell anyone, because Methos slit his throat a second later and stepped back to let him fall to the floor. Such a messy way to go, but it had been best to keep him from talking while he died.

"Huh," Fury said from behind him. "Dawson said you'd probably have things in hand. What did you just say to him?"

"I told him the deal was off," Methos said.

"What deal?" asked a painfully familiar voice from the hallway outside the room. 

Methos groaned and tossed the knife onto the floor by Dietz's body. Phil Coulson. Of course he was Fury's backup.

"Oh, hi," Phil said as he walked into the room. "This your mess? You still haven't filed those reimbursement forms, you know. I'll get you some new copies."

* * *

Waiting for someone to come clean up the mess wasn't Methos' style. If he'd had his way, he'd have found some of Dietz's clothing to change into and been out of there in a heartbeat. Fury and Coulson, however, had insisted on waiting for one of Coulson's people to come and help dispose of the body and the weapons and equipment. So Methos had taken the opportunity time afforded and smashed as much of Dietz's experimental electronics as he could. Tossing them out the upper windows of the house had been quick and easy and neither Fury nor Coulson had seemed inclined to argue with him about it.

When they'd finally gotten Methos back to his house he retreated into the bathroom to wash up while Joe, Fury, and Coulson occupied his living room. They were still all there, arguing about the situation, when Methos emerged after a quick shower.

"Yeah, well, I don't think my guys are really comfortable with full disclosure," Joe was saying as Methos walked into the room. 

The living room really was too small for Joe, Fury, Coulson, all of Fury's equipment, and Methos too. So Methos just kept on going, out of the living room and into the kitchen. He set a pot of coffee brewing and sat down at his table, trying to ignore the hum of Immortal presence from his living room. Having an Immortal he barely knew so close was unsettling, to say the least. Knowing it was Coulson, a man he was fairly certain was only about half a notch down on the Clan MacLeod Scale of Trouble from Duncan MacLeod himself, was even worse. 

Out in the living room the argument had turned from cooperation - or a lack thereof? - to surveillance methods. Methos tuned it out while the coffee brewed. So long as he was no longer in the crosshairs of a rogue agent of either organization, they could team up and be one big happy spy family, or not, as far as he was concerned. 

Joe appeared in the doorway just as the coffee finished.

"The whole pot is mine," Methos told him. "I deserve it."

"You sure do," Joe agreed. "You really slit his throat?"

"He was going to take my head to power up a ray gun," Methos pointed out. "I do think it was only fair."

Joe shrugged. "I'm not arguing. I promise you the Paris team won't either. He abducted and killed multiple Immortals and Watchers. One of you guys taking him out means we didn't have to."

For that, Methos poured Joe a mug of coffee and handed it over. 

"So, what do you think will happen now?" Methos asked, bringing the pot over to the table so he could just refill his mug at will.

Joe shrugged. "Fury wants to set up a liaison between us and his people. Whoever his people are now. He says they'll be back up and running somehow soon."

"We will," Coulson said from the doorway. Methos pulled the coffee pot a little closer to himself and slouched down in his seat. "I'm getting Director Fury out of your hair. You can thank me some other time."

"Are you taking all his toys too?" Methos asked.

"Definitely," Coulson assured him. "He shouldn't even have half of that stuff. I don't know how he got it here."

"A mystery for the ages," Methos said, abandoning his coffee to get up and move past Coulson to where Fury was packing up the tech in the living room.

"Speaking of mysteries for the ages," Fury said as Methos surveyed his progress, "Who's Methos?"

"Old Immortal legend," Joe said from behind Methos. "Supposed to be the oldest Immortal still living. A lot of Watchers think he died ages ago and we just don't know it."

Fury had packed away two of the laptops and a few of the other pieces of equipment. There was still one laptop and some odds and ends, but amazingly most of it had packed down into a single rolling suitcase.

"The prevailing theory I've heard is that there never was a real Methos," Joe added. "It's just a name fools use to try and impress others. Who would go around using it?"

"Huh," Fury said as he finished up. "You're right," he told Methos. "He does do that thing with his face."

"Some days I really hate you," Joe muttered to Methos.

Methos just smiled at him. "What else are friends for but to ruin your poker games?" He turned to Fury. "Honestly though, Methos is a myth. I studied the Watcher records on him for years and I can tell you he either never existed or he's so well hidden we'd never know if we did find him."

"So you were lying when you said you could find him? Someone like that'd be pretty useful."

"Of course," Methos said. And of course Fury had listened in. He'd probably been at the door right behind Dietz. "You can't find someone who doesn't exist."

Fury looked at him for a moment, then nodded. Methos had the distinct impression that Fury didn't buy it for one second, but also wasn't going to call him on it. Not yet, anyhow.

"Come on, Director. We've got a safe house with your name on it. Well. Not literally. That would defeat the point," Coulson said, picking up the last of Fury's things and tucking them into a case. "Mr. Dawson, it was a pleasure to meet you." He gave Joe's hand a firm shake, then turned to Methos.

"Nice work back there," Coulson told him. "Efficient. I appreciate that."

"Thank you. Now please take your boss out of my home. And never come back."

Coulson just smiled and walked out the front door. Methos could feel the tension leave him just a bit as Coulson's presence receded. 

"This was fun," Fury told him. "I might call you up next time I need a hand."

"Absolutely not," Methos said, taking that opportunity to close the door behind Fury, then lock it for good measure. He looked at Joe. "I don't care what you work out with Fury. I am never working with them ever again."


End file.
